


Thine Art Is Mime

by Drarrymadhatter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: Harry is looking forward to spending his anniversary with Draco, if he would ever come home on time! However, when he does eventually arrive, Harry gets a shock as he discovers Draco has quit his job as a successful arguer to be a mime!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 13





	Thine Art Is Mime

Thine Art Is Mime

Harry gave a small moan as he tasted the sauce he was currently cooking on the hob and nodded in approval. Perfect. He reached over and turned off the heat, letting the sauce rest as he began to scoop the rice onto two pre-warmed plates. He'd been working for most of the afternoon, determined to make sure that this anniversary was nothing short of perfect. Thanks to Draco's working hours as one of the most highly sought-after arguers within the wizarding world, they had been unable to go away together. Instead, they had agreed to a meal together and a nice relaxing evening in.

Therefore, Harry had decided that this meal would be amazing. He'd made Draco's favourite foods and had bought his favourite wine to pair it with. Harry smiled to himself as he remembered feeling faint when the merchant had asked him for two hundred galleons for just one bottle! It was for Draco, though, and nothing was too much when it came to him.

He flicked his gaze to the clock ticking methodically on the wall and noted that Draco was due home in ten minutes. _Just enough time to finish plating and change_ , thought Harry, smirking as he thought of the sinfully tight pair of dress jeans he was planning to wear. It was all going to plan.

* * *

It was _not_ going to plan. It was now going on an hour after Draco had said he would be home and the dinner that Harry had spent so long preparing was thoroughly ruined. After all, there was only so much a warming charm could do. The wine that he'd left breathing on the table had been recorked. He'd already loosened his shirt buttons and was now sitting cross-armed in a chair at the dining table, watching the second hand on the wall clock tick tick away. Mockingly, Harry decided. Those ticks were far too smarmy sounding. Those ticks knew that he shouldn't have bothered. Those ticks knew that, for some reason, Harry had become an afterthought to the man who had shared the last fifteen years of his life with.

Harry held his breath as the minute hand shuddered and then finally landed on the twelve, a fact that was announced by the previously cute, now obnoxious, cuckoo that liked to pop out on the hour. Harry felt hot, prickly, as if he was covered head to toe in static and he needed to ground himself. He puffed out short, quick breaths and looked the blasted cuckoo in the eye each time he appeared. The bird never made it to eight. All of the anger and upset and disappointment that had been churning through Harry for the last hour shot out of him like a bolt of lightning and the clock exploded into a pile of splintered wood and springs and cogs. _Good riddance,_ thought Harry furiously. _The bastarding bird deserved it._

* * *

Ok, things were _really_ not going to plan. Harry felt like he was caught in some alternative reality, or maybe he was hallucinating, because surely there was no way on Merlin's green Earth that he was really sitting at the dining table with Draco, who was dressed up in a mime costume! His face had been painted pure white, with black rimmed eyes and a bright red smile. He had on a black beret, a pair of tight black trousers with braces over a black and white stripy top. Around his neck was a small red scarf tied almost jauntily to the side. In his white gloved hands he held a long stemmed, red rose, which he waved around whenever he tried to communicate.

Harry had tried pinching himself, but he didn't wake up. He'd washed his face with cold water, but it made no difference. It was obvious that no amount of eye rubbing or shocked gasping was helping the situation either. The worst part — the very worst part — was the silence. No matter what he asked or said, Draco refused to speak. Instead, he simply attempted to act out all of his words with mime. Even when Harry had the sudden bright idea of getting parchment and a self-inking quill so he could write whatever was going on down, Draco refused to communicate through any other means than mime.

At the current moment, Harry was watching Draco miming the answer to the question — "What the actual bloody fuck, Draco?" So far, Harry had no idea what he was trying to communicate. At first, he thought maybe it was part of some weird kink that Draco had planned for that evening and tried to go along with it, but that only lasted for about three seconds, after which Harry was trying valiantly to keep a firm grip on the impulse to strangle his husband. After all, he was certain the best way to celebrate an anniversary was not to murder your other half.

He returned his attention to the silently flapping figure of Draco and groaned loudly.

"I have no fucking idea what you're trying to say! Why can't you just bloody speak?" If Harry had thought Draco would snap out of it and answer him verbally, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he was treated to an especially tense waving motion from his spouse.

"Fuck, I need—I can't—Just wait there. I'll be right back."

Harry jumped up and practically sprinted into the living room and threw himself onto his knees at the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of powder, stuck his head into the flames, and called out "Malfoy Manor". After a rather quick and muffled conversation, Harry ended the call and went back into the dining room.

"I called for reinforcements. It'll be— Stop waving your bloody arms around, Draco! I have no idea what you're trying to bloody say!" Harry looked at the exaggerated sad look on Draco's face as he mimed what looked like crying and sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, love. I'm just stressed. They're coming to help figure out what's going on, okay?"

Harry watched Draco change his sad face for a comically happy one, and then slumped himself into the nearest dining chair. Merlin, he hoped they would hurry and get here. This was way more bizarre than anything else he'd experienced in his life, and that was saying something!

* * *

The kitchen was fit to bursting with a highly unusual collection of friends and family. All of the Weasley's except Percy and Charlie were there, as was Hermione. Narcissa Malfoy was there, along with Andromeda, Teddy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbot and Neville Longbottom. The last time they were all in attendance at the one venue together was his and Draco's wedding day. He had always imagined if they were ever together again like this then it would be a funeral, or the birth of a baby, or some really huge crisis. _Well_ , conceded Harry, _if this isn't a crisis then I don't know what is!_

His guests, for want of a better term, were simultaneously staring at Draco and arguing with each other as to what could be wrong with him. Harry had had enough! This was meant to be his bloody anniversary and so far he had every man and his dog and a lunatic for a husband all congregating in his dining room! He wanted this sorted, and he wanted it sorted now!

"People!" Harry's yell rang throughout the room causing several people to startle and causing Draco to adopt a leaned back pose accompanied by an exaggerated shocked expression. Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes before addressing the room at large.

"As you can all clearly see, something isn't right with Draco." Harry did his best to ignore Draco leaning forward and shaking his fists at him in silent fury, the rose bobbing precariously in his right fist.

"We need to figure out what's going on and how to fix it. If nothing else, it would be good if we could get him to talk, because all this miming nonsense is driving me mental."

"I've done a check for curses and spell damage but there's nothing, Harry," answered Bill almost immediately.

"I think it would be prudent to call in a Healer. I'm surprised you have not yet taken this action, Mr Potter." Narcissa's cool clipped tone irritated Harry so much more than it usually would have. Did she think he was just sitting about doing nothing?

"I've given him a physical, Mrs Malfoy—"

"I apologise. I should have clarified that you should contact a _credible_ healer to examine my son."

"Now, just a minute—"

"Don't talk to her like that—"

"What do you expect from a Malfoy—"

"Ron—"

"Shut up everyone! Draco, stand bloody still!" Harry's roar ripped through the arguing and even Draco, who until this moment had yet to cease mining, was still.

"I'm sorry for shouting, but squabbling isn't going to help! Hermione, do you have any ideas?"

"Well, actually, I was going to suggest we treat it like a game of charades. Draco obviously either can't or doesn't want to speak for whatever reason. So I suggest we ask one question at a time and try to guess the answer. Draco can indicate that we have guessed correctly when we do. There are enough intelligent people here that it shouldn't take too long to get to the bottom on this."

Harry looked at the varying expressions in the room, from Draco's ridiculous happy nodding, to the skeptical and the resigned. Having no other option, he quickly ushered everyone into the sitting room and instructed them to form a semi circle around the coffee table area. He grabbed hold of Draco's arm, who looked ridiculously surprised, and pulled him to stand in front of the fireplace, facing everyone.

"Okay, here's how this will work. We will all get to ask one thing each as long as it's relevant. We ask one thing at a time and then we all try to guess what the answer is. From this, we can hopefully piece together what's going on. Then, we can sort Draco out and then make very good friends with my firewhisky stash. Agreed?"

Seeing that everyone was more or less on board, Harry sat on the arm of the closest chair where Ginny was sitting and asked the first question.

"Draco, did something happen at work today?"

Immediately Draco began to nod, and then he launched himself into a series of dramatic poses.

"Wait, wait a minute, Draco." Hermione's voice was clear, if a bit shaky. "Can you do that again but slower? We need to try to guess so you can't go too fast, okay?

Once again, Draco nodded several times before repeating his movements at a much slower speed than before.

"You, You!"

"You what—"

"You spoke?"

"Your job?"

At this, Draco ceased his motions and began to nod to indicate that Harry had guessed correctly that he was indicating that whatever happened had something to do with Draco's job. Once again, he resumed his motions, adding on a new series of movements at the end of it.

"Your job...is serious?"

"Oh, honestly, Ron!"

"What? He's acting all serious!"

"Your boss?"

At Narcissa's guess, Draco began to nod again, and then resumed miming once more.

"Your job, your boss, is dead?"

"Did you kill your boss?"

"Your boss tried to kill you?"

"Oh, dear Merlin!" Harry felt his face pale and his eyes widen as what Draco was trying to say dawned on him.

"Draco, love. Did you tell your boss that you wanted to quit your job today?"

Once again Draco began to nod emphatically, resulting in many shocked gasps and one muffled wail of distress which Harry figured came from Narcissa.

"Can you tell us why you quit your job, love?" prompted Harry gently, triggering Draco's miming once again.

"Sad?"

"No look, he's happy."

"Yeah, but he was sad first—"

"Oh for Salazar's sake!" interrupted Pansy, striding forwards to stand next to Draco. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, please tell me you did _not_ quit your job as one of the highest paid arguers in society to pursue the art of mime." Pansy's words were slow and seemed to bring a deadly chill with them. However, Draco didn't seem to notice the change in atmosphere, as he was suddenly silently jumping up and down and clapping and smiling.

"Oh holy fuck," gasped Harry. "Why? You love your job! And you've never once been interested in mime!"

"Well, this is obviously some kind of Confundus charm—"

"People with brain injuries can have this kind of side effect—"

"Malfoy's do _not_ practice mime, Draco!"

"He's gone barmy, that's what. He needs to go to St Mungo's."

"I'm so sorry Harry, but maybe we can get him a room next to my parents?"

"He most certainly will _not_ be on a common ward. My son must come home immediately for proper care."

"Are you suggesting my parents don't get proper care?"

"Oi, Harry can look after Draco just fine!"

"See, Malfoys are stuck up! I told you Harry shouldn't get involved—

"Wait a fucking minute!" Harry had just realised what everyone was rambling on about and his mind had finally caught up with the situation. "Everyone just step away and back the fuck off. Now!"

Once he was sure he and Draco had space and quiet, he took a moment to look at his husband. Yes, he was dressed stupidly. Yes, he was acting bizarrely. But, after all was said and done, Draco was still his husband. If Draco wanted to pursue mime, then that's what he should be able to do. He didn't pretend to understand it, but there was time for him to figure that out. Right now, especially on their anniversary, Draco was what mattered.

"Draco. I love you. If you really want to quit your job and be a mime, then fine. You could be anything or do anything and I doubt my feelings for you would change. But you need to help me understand this. And we need some ground rules. You can't mime in the house unless you've verbally warned me first. You need to make time to be verbal with me every day. If you can do that, then I can support you being a mime."

At Harry's words, Draco's face lit up in a beatific smile and he gave an overly theatrical bow and offered the red rose he was still clutching to Harry, which Harry took with a smile.

"I take it this means you agree to my terms? Remember, verbal at home unless previously informed."

"Yes, Harry. I agree. Thank you."

With that, Draco pulled Harry into a bone crushing hug and kissed him deeply on the mouth for a minute, leaving Harry breathless and flushed. Trying to regain a grip on himself, Harry turned to their audience and saw that they were all displaying varying degrees of shock at the turn of events. To be fair, there did seem a rather apparent lack of decent explanation for the evening's strangeness.

"So, husband of mine, are you ever going to explain why the sudden career change? And why the bizarre impromptu game of charades to figure it all out?"

"Later, love. Later." sighed Draco, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder.

"To be honest, I don't know what's more worrying," mumbled Ron with a smile, "the fact that a Malfoy is going to be a professional mime or that Harry actually suits the rubbed off red paint on his mouth! That's your shade, mate!"

"Fuck off, Ron," snorted Harry, as the others smiled and giggled at the situation.

"Honestly, Mr Potter, is anything ever normal around you?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs Malfoy. But Draco knew what he was getting into. Firewhisky anyone?"

At the affirmative round of murmuring, Harry summoned a tray of glasses and a bottle of Borteg's finest firewhisky. It had been a strange night, but maybe he and Draco could salvage some of their anniversary after all, after he explained why he was late for their anniversary, of course.


End file.
